Love Left Unsaid
by Phoenixflames12
Summary: London, 2013. Enjolras is a struggling journalist, fresh out of uni who is lacking any inspiration until he catches a fleeting glimpse of her. Eponine is a university student studying English Literature. One glimpse and their lives are changed forever... Selection of modern day AU drabbles- please feel free to Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

The first time he sees her, he is sitting in the back of a taxi, surrounded by open folders and loose papers; his laptop open and whirring on his knees; staring out of the rain washed windows at a city shrouded by a thin, grey blanket of moisture. She is clutching a thin, paper bag to her chest, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground; hurriedly pushing past the confused mêlée of blank faced passers-by who shove past her without a second glance. She is nothing to them, this dark haired girl dressed in a rumpled white shirt and multi coloured harem pants with the long dark hair tumbling out of a hasty bun and the downcast eyes. A flicker of recognition sparks in his brain, but dies as the driver takes a sharp left and she is, once again; lost from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Enjolras + writer's block + hot chocolate + Eponine. Modern day AU**_

_** As before, as I am not male, French, or living in C18th Paris- how can I possibly own Les Miserables? Enjoy! x**_

Writer's block

2. She comes every evening to the Café where he sits with a steaming hot chocolate and his laptop; trying to get over his writers' block. The piece is in for a week on Thursday and he has barely started. Not for lack of trying, never that; but because instinctively he does not feel it. It has yet to ignite the roaring inferno of passion that had gripped him with his earlier works; has yet to speak to him as he buries his head in his hands and closes his eyes; welcoming the temporary sanctuary brought on by the fluttering darkness behind his eyelids. He does not hear the slow scrape of a chair being pulled back, or smell the faint musty perfume wafting from the unknown body as a she slips into the vacant chair and watches his inner turmoil with an amused smile playing at the corner of her lips.

_**A/N: Please feel free to read and review! Comments, reviews and constructive critisim are like virtual chocolate to my brain! Much love x**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Eponine + day dreams + Enjolras Modern day AU**_

_**As before, as I am not male, French or living in C18th Paris- how can I possibly own Les Miserables? Enjoy! x**_

Dreaming of a God

She knows where he lives. Or at least she thinks she does. Sometimes she imagines that she sees him slipping through a door next to the local Starbucks and out of sight. A flash of angelic blonde curls that are wasted on him. She doesn't know what to make of him though. He is so different from the other boys she knows; so calm, so studious; and yet she hardly knows him. She wills away the hours when she is supposed to be writing up her English Literature essays thinking of him. Thinking of those large, blue eyes; the colour of calm water illuminated by the artificial glare of his laptop screen as he reaches out to take a sip from a rapidly cooling drink.

**_A/N: Wow! I didn't think you guys would like this but thank you for all the wonderful reviews! You have no idea how much it means to me! I'll keep posting these when I can; they're still being written but I am so glad you like them! Please feel free to Read and Review- as you know comments, suggestions and constructive critisim are like virtual chocolate to my brain! Much love x_**


	4. Chapter 4

Longing

_**A/N: As I am not male, French or living in C18th Paris, how can I possibly own Les Miserables? Please don't sue me! Enjoy x**_

He leans his elbows on the cool windowsill of his student room, lazily watching the city come alive. The glaring lights, dancing colours, the constant rhythm of feet on tarmac as people push through their daily lives; harassed businessmen hurrying home, ears glued to their phones as they desperately try to escape the chaos as the city is taken over by the Friday night revellers; skimpily clad girls laughing as they wave half empty bottles of cheap Vodka as trophies through the throbbing, buzzing night air. He wonders, fleetingly; if she is one of them. From a dark corner of his room, he faintly hears the beep of his phone as a message buzzes in. He ignores it and walks slowly back to his unmade bed; a mess of crumpled sheets, folders and blankets and collapses onto it, burying his face into the sweet, sweat soaked pillow, suddenly consumed with a desperate, burning longing for his unknown, dark haired angel.

_**A/N: Please feel free to read and review- I'm open to anything and will keep posting these little things when I get the chance! Much love and thank you for being such awesome readers, reviewers and followers! x**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: As I am not male, French or living in C18th Paris, how can I possibly own Les Miserables? Please don't sue me! Enjolras has got an American accent because of my obsession with Aaron Tveit at the moment! (I'm not sorry!) Happy?**_

Monday morning coffee

She looks out for him every day now, hoping that he may be part of the continuous weekday queue of grey faced, suit clad business men in cheap silk Saville Row ties, ready for their 8:30 caffeine boost. Men who shuffle forwards with downcast eyes and whispered words so that she has to lean over the counter to hear their orders. Sometimes she wonders whether she could have found a better job to fund her studies; but then again, this is close to home. And him, if he ever cared to drop by. He never does though. She scans the steadily thinning crowd whenever she can, sparing furtive glances over her shoulder as she works the Espresso machine; searching for a flash of blonde curls, a calm, cultured voice with that delicious, faint American twang tugging onto the ends of his vowels. It never comes. Shooting an anxious look at one of her pale faced colleagues, she drops her eyes and hands over the Decaf Vanilla Latté with semi-skimmed milk to an impatient looking business woman in a pinstriped suit, clicking kitten heels and a fierce blond bob cutting at her sharp cheekbones; who scowls before slamming down a crumpled £5.00 note on the counter and stalking out.

_**A/N: Please feel free to read and review! I've got a bit of time now, thankfully, so I'll be able to post more of these when I can! Much love and thanks for the lovely support and guidance that you've all given me! x**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: As I am not male, French or living in C18th Paris, how can I possibly own Les Miserables? Please don't sue me! Enjoy x**_

Saturday morning lie-ins

He sleeps late on Saturdays. It is a tradition of some sorts; he'll sleep late, get up at around 10:00, go and grab a hasty breakfast before making a tactful retreat back to the solitude of the café's upper floors; where the harsh, artificial glare of his laptop screen is dimmed slightly by the warm, soft lights of table lamps, bulbs shaded by brightly coloured lampshades which cast rainbow glows on the burnished orange walls. Today though, he can't concentrate. The words run in inky ribbons across the white glare of his laptop screen and dance before his exhausted eyelids; taunting him until he slams the lid shut and stuffs it back into his bulging briefcase. The deadline is in four days. He has written 10,000 words and they all link back to her. Back to a girl who he has never met and yet inexplicably knows inside out.

_**A/N: Please feel free to read and review- I'm open to anything and everything- just the knowledge that people like these is like chocolate to my brain! The next couple will be up soon- much love x**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: As always, as I am not male, French or living in C18th Paris- how can I possibly own Les Miserables? I also don't own 'Bright Star', Ben Wishaw or Romeo and Juliet although I really wish I did! Please don't sue me!**_

Star crossed lovers

She can't concentrate in lectures any more than he can on his writing. She stares down at the lecturer through eyes which sting with exhaustion and tries desperately to rid her brain of him. The lecture is on Keats: La Belle Dame Sans Merci. Keats has always been her favourite of the Romantic poets, helped along of course by Ben Wishaw's portrayal of him in 'Bright Star', which has been one of her favourite films ever since her English teacher recommended she watch it before starting her UCAS personal statement. But now, instead of Wishaw's dark, handsome face; all she sees is him. That pale, chiselled face with the large blue eyes; the mop of blonde hair carelessly falling into his eyes which are the colour of calm water. The smattering of freckles caressing the bridge of his nose and spilling out onto his cheeks which are flushed with cold.

_**A/N: Yes, I know they haven't met yet and I am sorry but they will and soon- I think I may need to rewrite my next one of these to make sure that happens sooner than later! This is for all the wonderful people who believe in these little things- thank you! Please feel free to read and review, much love x**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Disclaimer: As I am not male, French, or living in C18th Paris- how can I possibly own Les Miserables? You knew that already didn't you? Please don't sue me and enjoy this one! It's been re-written due to the countless reviews asking me when the hell these two are going to meet so here you go... Enjoy x**_

Memory

He perches on a barstool, gazing lazily at the steady surge of life that ripples through the streets behind the café widow. His laptop lies untouched on the table top beside him, the lid down, the charger cable neatly folded and leaning against the expectant power socket. He can't write. Not now. Not when he has more important things on his mind. The deadline is in two days and his phone is off. He knows how frantic his editor will be when he hears the familiar run through to voicemail, but it can wait. He only has another 500 words to write before he has reached his limit. Absentmindedly, he sips his orange and passion fruit juice cooler; feeling the icy numbness steel down his throat, freezing his lungs. An unknown presence glides softly past his back, unknown fingers softly brushing his neck. He turns on impulse and is suddenly breathless; staring into large dark eyes; framed by a rippling mane of inky ebony. The air seems suddenly void of oxygen as he gazes at the dark, heart shaped face; silently committing each and every feature to memory; knowing that every time he thinks of her, he will remember them in a slightly different way. She studies him silently, the knuckles gripping the plast tray loosening as she tries to compose herself, her head slightly tilted to one side. a soft smile dances at the corner of her lips, but she is called away into the throbbing life of the café before he can return it. He turns, gazing longingly after her slowly retreating back; feeling words dancing on his tongue, desperately trying to call her back, knowing that it is too late. As soon as he finds his voice, and looks up again she has disappeared and he is alone. Alone with an expectant laptop and a buzzing brain that is suddenly so full of ideas that he has to laugh as he reaches across for the machine which wires hopefully into life.

_**A/N: This is for all the wonderful people who have believed in these little things- I can't thank you enough for sticking with me! Please feel free to read and review! Much love x**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: First of all, I owe you brilliant, brilliant people a most sincere apology for not posting this chapter sooner! I'm up to my ears in revision- damn A-Levels and really haven't had a chance so I am deeply sorry for the wait! Second of all, as I am not male, French or living in C18th Paris, how can I possibly own Les Miserables- please don't sue me! Enjoy! x**_

Lust

She slips out of the stuffy, overcrowded lecture hall at lunchtime, unable to take the crowded mêlée of people shoving their way towards the freedom of the Student Union and a much needed Espresso. She needs air. She needs to breathe. Her head spins with a mixture of Keats and Browning and of him… The mop of angelic, golden curls falling carelessly into wide, blue eyes, the tight, determined mouth... Before she can stop herself, she imagines his hands on her shoulders, the warmth of his body pressing up against her own, the deliciously cosmopolitan accent whispering sweet nothings in her ear… She shakes her head and opens her eyes. She is standing in the middle of the silent courtyard the separates the lecture hall from the rest of the campus, with no knowledge of having got there. A lone pigeon hops around a bench that has its back to a gushing fountain whose twinkling melody seems to soothe her aching brain. The bird starts at her sudden movement and takes flight in a flurry of wings and talons as she staggers towards it; suddenly and inexplicably feeling utterly lightheaded as she collapses on the cool wooden slats and closes her eyes; basking in his golden, godlike glory.

_**A/N: This is for all the wonderful people who have read and reviewed this- you have no idea how much it means to me to know that my work is appreciated- thank you, you are all incredible! Please feel free to read and review- I'm open to anything! Much **_**_love and once again, enjoy! x_**


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Well, my wonderful readers, reviewers and followers; here it is! The final chapter of Love Left Unsaid! Disclaimer: as I am not male, French or living in C18th Paris- how can I possibly own Les Miserables? Please don't sue me! I'm so sorry for the delay but I've got revision for exams in May and am up to my ears in essays and practice questions- forgive me? Enjoy x**_

Meeting scene

She smiles down at her phone screen, pleased with her handiwork. The message is short, simple and to the point; asking him to meet her at 1:00 in the square. She can't really remember how she got his number; only that it is now tattooed in swirling blue biro on her palm. The machine buzzes that the message has sent and she can breathe again, slowly placing it back into her jacket pocket, smiling to herself. She is sitting by the public fountain, having finally got escaped the cramped hum of the main university square and is now listening to the twinkling, staccato melody of the water mixed with the slowing buzz of the city as it slowly unravels itself for an hours' blissful reprieve from the continuous throbbing dance of a weekday morning. Unknown bodies surge past her, feet drumming a monotonous melody into her head as she scans the faces; waiting, watching for a flutter of blonde curls, a bulging, leather briefcase. For some small sign to tell her that he got the message and understood. 'Hey there stranger', her reverie is popped like a soap bubble as those delicious American vowels slip like honeyed silk through her brain. She turns slowly, one hand gripping the bench for support, suddenly breathless as she looks up to see who has spoken, knowing all too well who it is.

He is standing next to her, one long fingered hand resting lightly on the back of the bench; his large blue eyes dancing with silent laughter at the look of startled confusion on her face. Blushing furiously, she rises to kiss him welcome; her eyes widening as he bends his lips to brush her knuckles; blue eyes twinkling with silent laughter and deepest sincerity. 'An honour Mademoiselle', he murmurs in that delicious faint American accent of his and in an instant, she is lost, drowning in his perfection as he slips into the vacant space beside her. She swallows, hating the knowledge that she looks like a strawberry faced idiot and finally finds her voice.

_**A/N: This is for all the wonderful people who have stuck with these little things- you have no idea how much it means to me! Please feel free to read and review- anything constructive is like virtual chocolate to my brain! Alternatively, please feel **_**_fee to PM me (it makes me feel really special when I get one of those!) with any ideas for future stories! Much love and enjoy x_**


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